As a lifelong vegetarian and as an Indian living in Bangalore, I have been eating cheap fast food all my life. But not the skanky plastic garbage peddled by Maccy D's, KFC and their ilk. Instead, I might have a crisp, lightly browned dosa (rice and lentil crepe) with coconut chutney for breakfast, pav bhaji (bread rolls with a buttery vegetable hash) for lunch and chaat (a spicy mix of potatoes, yoghurt, onions, tomatoes, cilantro and crispy bits) for a snack. Usually, these will cost me about Rs 50 (about 50p), less than a McDonald's veggie burger, which goes for Rs 59. They will be healthier, tastier, fresher.

The recent announcement by McDonald's that it is launching a veggie restaurant in India had me bellowing "What fresh hell is this?" It's the culinary equivalent of selling ice to Inuits. Inuits may not have more than a hundred words for snow – apparently it's an urban myth – but I can assure you that Indians have many more than a hundred varieties of veggie fast food, not just a plain one-size-fits-all potato patty.

Oh, I have tried McDonald's veggie offerings, the ones carefully created for my primitive brown taste buds after years of research. Once. The dull McAloo Tikki burger is not a patch on the infinitely more delicious crispy alu tikkis with tamarind chutney found at any street vendor. Their McSpicy Paneer is a cop-out, falling back on that bland veggie standby: paneer. It's the insipid nut roast of India, the tofu of timidity.

Cleanliness, you say? Nope. Even if you are a foreigner with a stomach like tissue paper, you are better off eating piping hot, fresh dosas from a busy street vendor than you are eating stale fast food. India has always had homegrown chains of veggie fast food joints which are every bit as clean and quality conscious as McDonald's, perhaps even more so. And I'd rather give my money to a small business owner than a McCorporation.

But hey, I am not going to sermonise. Or even tell you, Morgan Spurlock-style, that veggie burgers are killing you slowly. I don't need to. After almost 16 years in India, McDonald's has just over 250 outlets here, which, in such a massive country, is pocket change. I suspect that Indians are smart enough to know which side of their pav bhaji is buttered. Sure, broke students and tubby kids hankering after plastic toys will continue to eat there, but there will also be plenty like me who shun the Golden Arches in favour of a truly happy and tasty meal.

There are few more powerful symbols than the Golden Arches. For me, they represent at once the homogenising influence of market forces, the evil of industrialised agriculture, the obesity crisis. And the last time I was truly happy.

McDonald's, from the first time I crossed its air-conditioned threshold, has offered a place of sanctuary and calm. The smell of whatever-that-smell-is wafting through the air and the happy children, joyous with additives swirling around their blood streams. This is where I've had my best thoughts, my most cherished memories. This is where I can truly be me.

And I'm not alone. From Shanghai to Chicago, kids, pensioners, lawyers and students come and are welcome. However much people might not want this to be true, McDonald's is the global restaurant – the place that unites humanity. You might find better, cheaper food elsewhere, but that's not going to convince Parisian school kids or London lawyers coming back for more.

I used to go three times a week (and yes, dear readers, I was a fat child). I wasn't just lovin' it, I was stalking it on Facebook, and naming our soon-to-be-children. But three months ago, my life changed for ever. I became vegetarian (something about climate change and global hunger, but I forget the details). My place of solace was now closed off.

Of course when I walk by a restaurant, it looks as it always has. As I stand on the street corner, I see people laughing, enjoying themselves. I want to go in, and share the things that make us human. But I know I can't, the temptations will be too much. The Chicken Selects, the Big Mac, the fries (I could go on), so delicious and so stunningly cheap. I miss them. A lot. But I made my choice, and I must accept the consequences. So there's me, outside. An outcast in a meat-eating world. But perhaps not for much longer.

That's why a McDonald's veggie restaurant in India fills me with unadulterated joy and hope. Yes, there are haterz, there always are. And to them I say, whatevs. Indians won't all become obese overnight, and their cuisine isn't going to suddenly disappear. Maybe Indian vegetarians, like their meat-eating peers the world over, watch McDonald's ads and think "you know what, that looks cool". And isn't that a wonderful thing? That we live in a world where people can pick and choose the best of global culture, regardless of where they were born? McDonald's is the global emancipator. May its benevolence spread far and wide.

But first, could the veggie outlets spread to London? Say, Hackney, E9. Then I won't feel a stab of jealousy every time I pass a branch. And maybe then I can stop resenting being a vegetarian, and start actually enjoying it. Yes, those really will be the (Mc)Salad days.

• Andrew Tobert is a copywriter, an environmental activist and a lousy vegetarian